


black burning heart

by Chamomile



Series: unburnt fires [2]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Nudity, in which hubert has Had Enough
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-23 21:03:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20346700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chamomile/pseuds/Chamomile
Summary: Edelgard’s heart is etched into these very pages; the heart that the solitary emperor is always so afraid to show to others is right here, locked away in a place where no one but Byleth will find it.“You will never truly understand just how much guilt she felt—how broken she was,” Hubert clenches his fist, “but this, I’m afraid, will have to do.”[an indirect sequel to "midnight tea."]





	black burning heart

**Author's Note:**

> hello!! i don't have too much to say, except for "thank you!" for so much positive feedback on these edeleth stories!! i've still got quite a ways to go with writing, but this has been an enjoyable game to practice with!
> 
> this story makes use of the "sauna" that, for some reason, is in the monastery but nobody uses it? i imagine it probably works as a bathhouse, too, so if you're wondering if there was ever a bathhouse in garreg mach, then your answer is: kind of.
> 
> it's a bit of a longer story, but i hope you'll enjoy it!

The countless blossoms that painted Garreg Mach’s greenery always burst into their brightest hues during the Great Tree Moon. They would dance in the wind, not for just the monastery, but for all Fódlan to gaze upon in wonder.

Viewing the soothing blossoms over a cup of one’s favorite tea was something even stoic young Byleth could appreciate. Falling petals, in their transience, had much in common with the battlefield…or so she was once told. There was beauty and pride in short-lived victory and growth, but the world—and the battles—would continue to move on into summer’s verdant shade despite the petals strewn on the earth, sacrificed for a new season, a new battle.

Byleth forgets whose words those were, but the thoughtful, poetic tone of the advice reminds her much of Edelgard. She can only assume it _was_ Edelgard, at least for the moment. She certainly would love to ask her, once she is free from her…current obligations in the garden.

She has been eyeing a certain macaroon on the tea table for some time, but a part of her admits she is afraid to take one. The host that uncharacteristically provided her with such lavish sweets was the last person she’d expect to join her at tea, after all.

“…You needn’t worry,” the voice at the other side of the table senses her concern, “Lady Edelgard has hand-picked each of these sweets herself. You may enjoy them without hesitation.”

Byleth nods, still rather perplexed by her situation. Being invited to tea by one of her trusted companions was one thing, but when that trusted companion was _Hubert, _of all people, one couldn’t help but wonder if there was some ulterior motive…as there often was.

“You won’t take any for yourself?” Byleth wondered aloud.

“I personally do not partake,” Hubert’s expression softened as he motioned to his cup, “Just the coffee will do.”

Byleth trusts that Hubert won’t do anything strange. The two have been equals for far too long now, and Byleth knows all too well that she would’ve already been dead if Hubert saw fit to kill her. There is always a sliver of doubt, yes, but when there are masterless macaroons on the table, she is more than willing to take that risk.

“I didn’t think you enjoyed these sorts of outings, Hubert,” Byleth says.

“Do not misunderstand my intentions,” he sighs, “I despise them with every fiber of my being.”

“Oh,” Byleth blinks, taking two or three macaroons for herself, “Why the sudden change of heart?”

“It was the least suspicious way to have some time with you, and you alone,” Hubert shrugs, though his tone does not strike fear in his guest, “Had I not insisted this was purely for business purposes, Lady Edelgard would have surely accompanied me with these sweets of hers.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” Byleth asks, a glimmer in her eyes, “I would have loved to have her here.”

“I do not doubt that,” Hubert grins, “But I’ve a matter to discuss with _you_. I did not drag myself from my work to simply speak with you of cats and comrades.”

“You should, when you have time,” Byleth smiles, stuffing an entire macaroon into her mouth, “We’d all appreciate it. Especially Ferdinand, you know, he’s been talking about wanting to sit with you for tea—”

“_Another time, _perhaps,” Hubert interrupts her at a volume she did not even think the gloomy young man capable of. Taking the hint, she asks no more questions, helping herself to another macaroon all the while.

Hubert takes the professor’s full mouth as a symbol that he is free to speak his business, reaching from the bottom of the table to reveal a tiny hempen drawstring bag. He shifts his eyes left and right to check his surroundings before he gingerly places it in the middle of the table.

“I have been conflicted for some months on whether I should discuss this with you or not. Our victory at Arianrhod was…pyrrhic, to say the least, yet we are closing in on a turning point with the Kingdom, and I would disclose something to you before our next battle is upon us.”

Byleth opens the bag carefully after a nod of approval from Hubert, taking the contents over to her side of the table for a closer look. A small, ornately crafted oaken chest with the Empire’s crest engraved on it sat in her hands, somewhat heavier than she had originally imagined.

“It’s lovely,” she gazes upon the fine craftsmanship, but knows there is more to this story than just a simple chest, “What would you have me do with it?”

“Have you ever wondered, Professor,” Hubert begins, “why the bottom drawer on your desk has been broken since your return to the monastery?”

Byleth freezes, her eyes sharp on Hubert. While the question itself had been oddly specific…he hadn’t been wrong. The bottom drawer that once stored her old perfumes never did seem to budge after she came back to Garreg Mach from her five-year slumber. It seemed an infinitesimal annoyance at the time—she had plenty of other places to put new perfumes in that dusty old room of hers, but she doesn’t recall telling anyone about that.

“Caught your attention, have I?” Hubert asks, his yellow eyes almost aglow with intrigue, “I’ll admit, it was never truly broken. I simply chose to lock it.”

“What point is there in telling me this, Hubert?” Byleth asks, perplexed.

Hubert takes a sip of his coffee, reveling ever so slightly in the professor’s confusion, “Lady Edelgard ordered me to entrust you with the key to that drawer.”

“She…ordered this?” Byleth repeats Hubert’s words, gazing upon the little chest more carefully as she asks.

“In a manner of speaking, yes,” Hubert puts down his coffee and crosses his arms, “I was told that when the time was right—if you still truly lived, that is—I would entrust the key to you.”

“How long ago was this?” Byleth leans in, hanging on Hubert’s every word.

Hubert pauses before he answers, “Sometime before your return. I doubt she remembers these particular orders, however. Lady Edelgard stood unyielding for the good of the Empire during your absence, but we of the Strike Force knew how fragile she truly was when it came to matters concerning you and your…whereabouts at the time, Professor.”

Byleth’s gaze sunk, her eyes glued to her teacup.

She never did know what to say about Edelgard to the others—and they _did_ tend to ask rather frequently. There was always something about the emperor that seemed to tug at her very being; each time Edelgard opened up or shared something about herself to Byleth all those years ago, the experiences were new and warm and bittersweet…something she’d never experienced before. Some selfish part of her always wanted to know more about the emperor…but she never pried. She would always be patient.

No one had ever shown so much genuine interest or care for Byleth than Edelgard had. When Jeralt was still alive, his daughter only knew how to return such gestures and feelings towards the lordling in the same brusque manner as her father. But after he had passed away, she learned to give more and care more about all those around her…even if the cost of experiencing some semblance of emotion had been unfathomably high.

Thinking back on it, every member of the Strike Force showed that kind of care for Byleth in their own unique ways, just as Edelgard had. But Edelgard’s words and feelings always caught Byleth in an emotion she could never properly express, the same bittersweet warmth she found herself in whenever Edelgard held her hand, or spoke to her of secrets and the past.

Thankfully, neither of them knew very well how to express themselves—the two of them happily admit that to each other each time they meet for tea on Sundays. They never tended to get too wrapped up in their own flaws, and simply chose to be themselves, to speak freely of the things a life of chaos and war had stolen away from them. Edelgard’s presence both eased and motivated Byleth. They learned from each other, grew from each other. Byleth had grown so used to Edelgard…and, she would admit, craved her presence at times, when solitude was simply not enough.

But there was still much about the emperor that Byleth felt she didn’t know, or, perhaps, could never understand. Unlike her dear friend, she would never be an emperor, after all.

The professor’s heavy silence becomes another opportunity for Hubert to speak.

“You should know, Professor, that I would not have given this to you if I did not think you worthy of it,” he says, taking one last sip of coffee and standing up from the tea table, “That is all.”

Pulled from her reverie, Byleth instinctively stands from the table as well, her eyes focused again on Hubert’s.

“Hubert, wait,” she blurts out, “I don’t—I’m not sure I understand.”

“No, you never did,” he retorts, “Perhaps now you will.”

And, as is his wont, Hubert leaves Byleth with more cryptic messages and mysteries. Her gaze remains fixed on him as he leaves the gardens; his posture instantly relaxes as soon as he can find a comfortable shadow to hide in, and he sulks out of her field of vision completely.

The little eagle-crested chest remains in Byleth’s grip, and the tiniest peek inside reveals a glimmering brass key.

She has much left to do today, she remembers, but she stuffs the little chest back in the bag it came from, holding it close…if only because it may have belonged to Edelgard.

* * *

Throughout the course of the day, the little chest and key weighed on Byleth’s mind…and, unfortunately, on her belt. She wasn’t even given the time to put it somewhere safe before she was asked to attend an impromptu meeting on battle rations with Ashe and Mercedes.

Once that was all said and done, Petra and Dorothea requested some help in the greenhouse with some new flowers they’d found… Byleth was never one to refuse friends in need, however, and she rather enjoyed seeing the glee on Ashe’s face when he and Mercedes came up with a new recipe, or the light in Petra’s eyes when Dorothea showed her a picture of the flowers they were planting.

If either pair seemed to notice the little satchel on the professor’s belt, they did not speak a word about it, despite how out-of-place it looked in Byleth’s possession. She was grateful for that all the same… She did not want to find herself in another conversation about Edelgard when the mere thought of the emperor set a pang of anxiety alight in her belly.

Before she realizes it, the monastery is enveloped in the bright orange glow of evening, and the chapel bells echo out their usual tune for all to hear.

“Many thanks, Professor!” Petra bows to her, as courteous as ever, “Dorothea is saying she is very much looking forward to the flowers.”

“They’ll be lovely roses, I’m sure!” Dorothea adds as the trio dust themselves off and make their way through the greenhouse doors, “They’re the most relatable flower, if you ask me.”

“Relatable?” Petra’s eyes widen with curiosity, “Do you, ah…have family members that are roses, Dorothea?”

“Oh, Petra, no!” Dorothea can’t help but laugh, “I meant that they have qualities _similar_ to us.”

“I…think I have understanding!” Petra nods, “Are you thinking roses are relatable too, Professor?”

“Of course she does!” Dorothea proudly puts her hands on her hips before Byleth can even respond, “But she would be a white rose, not a red one.”

“There’s a difference?” Byleth asks.

“Well, white roses tend to symbolize purity and devotion to a cause…or a person,” the songstress explains, “Sound familiar?”

“The professor is very pure,” Petra agrees, “But in battle, she is relatives with the red rose, I am thinking. We all are.”

“Because we’re all passionate women in the prime of our youth?” Dorothea asks.

“Because there is blood on the battlefield,” Petra tells them matter-of-factly.

“Petra, do you know about flower language at all?” Dorothea asks, her brow furrowed.

“I did not know flowers spoke to one another…” Petra’s eyes widen, “Do you have understanding of the flowers, Dorothea? Will you teach me?”

“That’s not really what I—well, I suppose they sort of do, in a way,” the songstress chuckles, “I’d be happy to teach you whenever you’d like, Petra.”

“Yes!” Petra grins, “I am looking forward to knowing the sayings of flowers!”

“Well, before all that, we should go wash up,” Dorothea yawns, “Tending to the flowers is certainly fun and all, but we all…smell like fishmeal.”

“Hmm,” Petra takes a small whiff of her hand, turning pale as she discovers that Dorothea has a point, “Shall we be going to the bathhouse, then?”

“That sounds delightful!” Dorothea nods, turning towards Byleth, “Would you like to join us, Professor? We’ve got some time to wash up and take it easy tonight before Edie takes the place for herself.”

“Edelgard takes the bathhouse for herself?” Byleth asks.

“You are usually bathing in the morning with all of us, Professor,” Petra tells her, “so you would not know. But at night, it is Edelgard’s turn. No one is allowed to be bathing when she is there.”

Byleth easily puts two and two together—of course Edelgard would want to bathe alone. If the terrible stories she once told were as disturbing as they sounded, her entire body was likely covered in the scars of those Crest experiments. It was little wonder she’d want to keep the horrors that marked her body a secret from the others.

Her thoughts turn to the image of the emperor in one of the monastery’s grandiose bathhouse tubs all by her lonesome, which, she realizes, is not very appropriate. She tries to think of something a little less worrisome, like the chest and key, so that her face doesn’t feel like it’s burning.

“I think I’ll go tomorrow morning,” Byleth fibs, “but I appreciate the offer.”

The three walk together up to the dorms, laughing and chatting and trying to forget the battles they will soon have to fight. Byleth sends Dorothea and Petra off as she finally has a chance to stop at her room and close the doors shut, hurriedly untying the bag and taking the key from the chest.

* * *

The professor dearly wishes she could have spoken to Edelgard about this key. In fact, few days pass where Byleth _doesn’t _speak with Edelgard, and she cannot say she likes those days very much. But night has already fallen on the monastery, and the light of Byleth’s lantern wraps her quaint little room in a soothing glow.

She has been staring at the open chest for nearly an hour, and fear takes a firm hold on her. She wishes that she knew why this worried her so much, why Edelgard never told her this secret earlier.

With one last bit of resolve, and a deep breath, Byleth slowly takes the key in hand, reaching down towards her bottom desk drawer. It takes her some time to find the little black lock Hubert has installed on the thing, (of _course _Hubert would lock it in the most difficult nook and cranny possible) but the satisfaction when the lock clicks open erases her worries, if only for a moment. It would, at least, buy her enough courage to open the little drawer, and open it she does.

The professor’s old perfumes are nowhere to be found, and in their place stands a lone red notebook, torn at the edges. The name written on it has faded with time, but the curvature of Edelgard’s handwriting is present, and that is all Byleth needs to know before she takes the book into her hands and inspects it closely.

If this book is truly Edelgard’s, Byleth worries again if it is safe to turn these pages. She fears discovering things that Edelgard would not tell her herself, but she recalls Hubert’s words from earlier, and she turns to the first page, slowly making out the faded script written within:

_\--1182. _

_My dearest professor,_

_The rumors around the monastery grow worse with each turn of the seasons… Though two years have passed since your disappearance, it seems we are the only ones with faith left in our hearts that you are still with us, somewhere in the world. _

_There is little faith to be found in Fódlan, and, in some twisted way, I take pride in that. The Empire’s fight against the church grows bolder by the day, and the nobles that have chosen to support our cause outnumber both the Alliance and the Kingdom…though the Church will stand in our way to the last._

_I do not know what darkness you may find yourself in, but I am certain you will return to us. If ever I find you in the dark, know that I shall reach out my hand and pull you back into the light, just as you have done for me so many times before._

_Our friends have not given up hope, but others have. They claim you are gone to us forever. In the little time I do have for myself, I wander the outskirts of the ruins. The soldiers have searched and searched, but they do not know you as I do. They would not recognize your presence as I do._

_Am I foolish to think you will call out my name and run back towards my side? Am I mad to think you would join our cause again?_

_If that is the case, then let me die the mad emperor who loved you._

The world stops around Byleth as she reads the last sentence over and over again. The burning unease starts and stops in an endless cycle, and something clicks in her mind as heat and sadness overcome her entire being.

_Love._

What kind of love is this?

The pages all begin to blur into one, until Byleth realizes she has turned too far, finding an entry from a year later:

_\--1183._

_My dearest professor,_

_The anniversary of your disappearance draws closer, and the nightmares grow ever more realistic. _

_I will never tell a soul about them. Only you, if ever I am blessed with your presence again. _

_You’ve slain me in each and every nightmare. In some, you run away from us, and choose a different path, and I never do blame you. But each time, I am at peace as the Sword of the Creator cuts through my flesh, and I am finally freed from my own darkness. _

_I wonder some mornings if I’ve truly begun a descent into madness, taking pleasure in even the nightmares where I can see you again. I swore to myself I would not end up a mad ruler like Dimitri has become these past few years...but there are times where I worry. Perhaps we who carry the burdens of countless countrymen are all fated to madness._

_My personal outings have been discovered by Hubert. He has requested I search for you no longer. He is right to chide me; I know now that you will not return so easily. _

_Tell me, Professor, where else will I shed tears that no one else will see? Who else can I turn to, if not to you?_

_My dearest wish is that I am still the Edelgard you left me as, but I fear that is becoming nigh on impossible. Though our battles prove victorious, war has changed the faces of the Black Eagles you once nurtured and taught. Their prowess on the battlefield is unmatched, to be sure, but there are times when I look upon their distraught expressions, wondering if I truly made the right decision._

_But as you once told me: I have come this far. I have made my choices. I must exact my revenge on the church…even if it costs me my life._

Byleth’s hands begin to tremble, and her breaths grow ragged as something warm and wet runs down her cheek, falling onto the wooden desk.

The weight of the five years she missed were heavier than she ever could have imagined. Edelgard—her very own Edelgard—had written these words for her. Too many questions are left unanswered; what would have happened if Byleth had never come back? What would have happened if she had made another choice?

She begins to unearth the raw emotion in the emperor’s words. Edelgard’s heart is etched into these very pages; the heart that Edelgard is always so afraid to show to others is right here, locked away where no one but Byleth will find it.

Something compels her to keep turning pages. She finds written accounts of Edelgard’s memories of Byleth, old drawings of the monastery from before the war…and declarations of love. _So many _declarations of love, in countless different ways; even Byleth’s unmoving chest begins to ache, wanting nothing more than to comfort this memory of the emperor.

The ache fades to a sudden emptiness when Byleth realizes how long she had left Edelgard alone. The emperor is one of the strongest young women she had ever met, but the more she reads, the more she wants to defend Edelgard, keep her safe from the darkness that hides behind shadows of the past and old black ink.

Was that love? She feels like it resembles love somehow, but how would she know? She has never loved like the ancient, immortal heroes whose tales graced the monastery’s library.

_\--1184._

_My dearest professor,_

_I admit this to you with much disgrace, but this past month…I have refrained from sleeping, in hopes that I see your specter wandering the monastery halls. I have only just awoken from a long slumber, but I wished to write this experience down, so that I do not ever forget the pain it has caused me._

_I glimpsed your face late one evening, and wondered then if perhaps there was more of you. You disappeared when I first called out your name._

_A few days later, you returned. You knocked on my door, and though you did not speak, I knew what you wanted to tell me. We sat together, and you listened as I spoke to your shadow of everything that had come to pass in the four years since you left us._

_In the weeks that followed, we had midnight tea together. You told me of your travels, and I was finally able to laugh with you again… In the back of my mind, however… I knew this was not the professor I had grown to love._

_In the end, my little shadow scolded me, and in my anger, I destroyed something precious of yours. If ever you return and find your teacup missing, I hope that you will one day forgive me my childish heartbreak._

_The war effort continues, and our scars remain, but I have slowly begun to forget who you truly are. Your face, your voice…it has all become a hazy memory, and I am terrified that I shall never have the opportunity to hold you in my arms as I once dreamed._

_It is a miracle that I have cried so many tears for you. You have left me half-human, wandering aimless without my other half. I do not know whether that other half resides in myself or in you, but I desperately search for it in the sunsets after a battle, or in the gardens at dawn…_

_I have yet to find it, <strike>but if you were to be my other half, then I</strike>_

The rest of the page is torn and unintelligible.

Byleth understands in that moment that she does not have to love like an ancient, immortal hero to love at all. Though her hair and eyes glow with the same verdure as a saint, Byleth is but a human. No man or god or frozen heart would stop her from loving Edelgard like a human.

She is not quite aware if the tears ever stop, but she reaches the final pages, written in dark ink, scribbled on and crossed out and torn and re-written:

_\--1185_

_Byleth,_

_I do not know whether these words will ever reach you, as five years have passed and Fódlan is a very different place from when you left it. I have little left to say on these final pages, other than what I have already written._

_I have asked Hubert to burn this book. If you were to read this, I don’t think you would ever want to face me again. I look back on these pages now and see what a repulsive creature I have become over the years. I wish more than anything that I could see you clearly again, even for a moment, so that you could speak with me and bring me back down to earth and remind me of who I am—who I have always been._

_It may be for the best that you do not find me again. All of this longing, all of this childish love…there is no use for it in a world without you in it._

_May Fódlan grow into a land that you can one day smile upon, my teacher, and may the embers that these words become reach you, wherever you might be._

_The light that you have shined upon me will forever be burned into my heart, for better or for worse._

The hollow sensation in Byleth’s chest burns into blind fury as the professor reads through the final page.

Hubert had deceived her. This book—Edelgard’s very heart and soul and suffering the past five years—was never meant for Byleth’s eyes at all.

Without very much thought, she nearly jumps out of her chair, slamming her hands on her desk. She lets out one last quiet sob before she brushes the tears away from her face, and after a deep breath, she bolts out of her room, in hot pursuit of the sly servant who had fooled her and forced her to see what had been in plain sight for so long.

* * *

The gates to the bathhouse are not far from Byleth’s room, and as she climbs the stairs, she is filled with ire anew upon the sight of Hubert, nonchalantly standing guard.

“Why, Professor,” he turns to Byleth, “I did not expect to see you out so late.”

_“You lied to me,” _Byleth murmurs through gritted teeth, catching her breath, “You were supposed to—your orders were to _burn _that book.”

“Ah, yes, the matter of the book,” the dismal young man replies, “Apologies for my dishonesty. It pains me to do such a thing, but I’m afraid this was inevitable.”

“Why?” Byleth’s voice is strained as she recalls everything, the distance between her and Hubert closing, “I trusted you. _She _trusted you! And you—you…!”

“Think of me what you will,” Hubert begins, “but your trust is not misplaced. I am simply answering a long-held question of yours, for Lady Edelgard’s sake.”

“_Burn it, _Hubert,” the professor tells him, grabbing him by the collar, “Take it back from my room and _burn it. _If not for me, then for her.”

But he chooses to ignore her, sighing at Byleth’s stubbornness.

“Do you recall, Professor, the day you returned to Garreg Mach, and presented yourself to us all?”

“…No, you wouldn’t—”

“You once asked me in passing just _how much_ Her Majesty had suffered in your five years away. You were rather curious to know, after we made it clear that she believed in you most of all.”

“That’s…that’s why you kept the book?”

“You will never truly understand just how much guilt she felt—how broken she was,” Hubert clenches his fist, “but this, I’m afraid, will have to do.”

Byleth’s anger sinks down to her very core. She loosens her grip on Hubert’s collar, and she does not know what to feel anymore. She has no words for Hubert, but he, on the other hand, still has a mind to speak:

“I will say it again: I would not have given the book to you if I did not think you worthy of it…or of Lady Edelgard.”

And Byleth begins to understand the strange, twisted sentiment Hubert is throwing upon her—how could she have expected anything less?

“…_You_ locked it in my room, didn’t you?”

“I did, as a matter of fact.”

Byleth lets go of Hubert completely, her eyes fixed on the ground as she trembles, full of some new, complicated emotion she isn’t completely sure what to call.

“I take no pride at all in disrespecting Her Majesty’s boundaries,” Hubert hisses, “But what other choice did I have, after watching her suffer at your hands for so long? Did you expect me to simply idle as you began to forget the impact your own disappearance had on us all?”

Byleth’s gaze shoots back up to the young man, perplexed, motionless.

“All I desire is Lady Edelgard’s happiness,” he says, “She is too proud to admit to you the full extent of the grief that overcame her. This was all I could do for her.”

“Hubert,” Byleth replies, lightheaded as she chooses her next words, “I wanted to be with her. I wanted to be there for her this whole time, and I—”

“You are wasting your breath,” he motions to the door behind him, “Go to her.”

Byleth’s face heats up, “Is she not—?”

“I will not say it again,” Hubert furrows his brow. And Byleth doesn’t think on it any longer, she simply _runs _into the women’s bathhouse, leaving her black-clad compatriot behind as her heels click against stone tiles, and steam washes over her and chokes her first few breaths.

* * *

The bathhouse lights are much brighter than the starry skies, and her eyes are still adjusting when she hears the faintest splash from a sunken stone tub in the corner of the giant, echoing room.

Byleth can only keep running, paying no mind to the wet floors or the echoes of her footsteps or the harrowing voices in her head. They keep telling her what she should be saying, or what she shouldn’t, until her vision is clear and she spots the solitary emperor, sitting, sinking into the hot water.

“_Edelgard!” _the professor calls out much louder than she needs to. Her voice keeps ringing, _ringing _back and forth against the walls as she closes in on a familiar head of loose, snow-white hair.

Edelgard immediately tenses, covering every inch of herself possible with her hands and arms, sinking as much as she can into the water before her dear friend can see any more of her.

“Byleth?!” she asks, terrified, “How did you—?!”

“I—oh,” the professor realizes that she is still fully clothed, and regrets the position she has forced Edelgard into, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking, I just…”

She shakes her head again and again and loses every word stuck in her mouth; nothing ever passes her lips, and she is terrified that if something does, she will have to reveal everything to Edelgard. A lump forms in her throat and she simply chooses to speak no more.

Such a meek posture is rare, coming from the professor; Edelgard catches on rather quickly. Her guard slowly comes down, her scar-covered body slowly revealing itself from the murky ripples.

“You’re welcome to join me,” the emperor looks away, not realizing the weight of her words until after she’s spoken them, “I-If you’d like.”

The words reach Byleth, but she is afraid to look straight back at the other woman, or all her strange emotions would bubble up and burst. Her entire body burns warmer than any bathhouse should ever be, but she chooses to accept the offer, slipping off her coat and her armor and her tights and her smallclothes until there is nothing left, and their bodies are laid bare.

The water does not burn the professor as she sinks into it, but it is hot enough to tinge her shoulders and her cheeks. She admits to herself that she is glad for the cover right now, when she herself is still red all over and can barely speak a sentence to the woman who once mourned for her and cried for her and loved her like no one else ever had.

She sits as close as she can to Edelgard, but the latter does not say a word or tense up one bit. Byleth’s eyes wander towards the emperor’s curves and scars, and some strange new part of her wants to keep admiring her like this to calm her nerves. Her eyes jump back to Edelgard’s, before she can lose herself anywhere else.

“I didn’t mean to barge in on you like this,” Byleth sinks into hot water, desperately trying to wash away whatever shame this was, “They told me you liked taking baths by yourself.”

“I suppose I do,” Edelgard nods, chuckling, “but you know everything there is to know about me. What else do I have to hide from you?”

Words did not often sting Byleth, but those last few found their mark on her, digging in and twisting into her very skin.

“You are too kind to me, Edelgard,” the professor brushes a wet tuft of hair aside, doing whatever she can to bury those last thorny words.

“You needn’t flatter me,” Edelgard stares down at her reflection in the water, smiling a sad, gentle smile, “To be honest, I’ve…never had anyone to talk to here before. It’s rather pleasant, actually.”

“Then we’ll talk for as long as you like,” Byleth surprises even herself at her eagerness, “I didn’t get to see you today, so…you can tell me about your day.”

“Hmm,” Edelgard plays with a strand of her hair as she ponders, “The usual paperwork, the usual training. Nothing out of the ordinary today—aside from not seeing you until now, that is.”

“Do you find it unusual when I’m not around?” Byleth asks. Her expression is as blank as always…which seems to fluster Edelgard.

The emperor crosses her arms, “Do I not have that right, after everything that has happened between us?”

“You have every right,” Byleth replies, “because you’re the emperor.”

Edelgard is entertained by the response, smirking ever so slightly before she peers back at the water’s surface.

“What of you?” the emperor asks, never looking back up, “Do you find it unusual when we cannot see each other?”

“I think so,” Byleth nods—she can at least admit that much for now, “But I know you have your own business to attend to without me.”

“Well,” Edelgard begins, “If a day like today should ever happen again…you would be more than welcome to join me here. It’s no replacement for tea, but…”

“I would be happy to,” Byleth replies, apprehension circling around her again, “for as long as you’ll have me.”

“Then it’s settled,” Edelgard is suddenly closer, leaning her head on Byleth’s warm, flushed shoulder. Byleth is frozen at the lack of distance between them. She never minded these sorts of gestures before; they would sit like this frequently on those private evenings where they’d chat at the Goddess Tower…but that was before she knew why she liked it so much, before she had read five years of Edelgard’s bleeding, burning heart. The quiet between them is comfortable, yet no words seem to do Edelgard justice in this moment—or so she thinks, until something leaves her lips before she has time to think:

“You’re beautiful.”

The simple words startle the emperor, and she nearly jumps away from Byleth’s shoulder, her cheeks and shoulders and ears glowing brighter than ever before.

“I’m sorry,” Byleth swallows.

“N-No, it’s all right,” Edelgard shakes her head. Her mouth begins to move again, and she looks as if she’s about to speak, but she hesitates, bringing herself back next to Byleth, closing the distance again.

“Professor?”

“Hm?”

“What reason did you have for coming here, really?” Edelgard asks.

The air stiffens, and Byleth finds it harder to breathe. It takes every bit of willpower she has to keep herself together with all of Edelgard’s secrets on her mind, but the emperor’s soft, scar-covered hand sits upon on Byleth’s shoulder, her bright lavender eyes sunken with concern.

Long white locks float on the surface of the water, and Byleth looks to them as if they could give her some guidance. She never does find any, and her own green eyes trace their way back up to Edelgard’s body.

She snaps herself out of her little trance, reaching out to touch Edelgard’s outstretched hand, tracing rough scars and soft fingers.

“There’s something I should tell you,” Byleth finally says, “Hubert did something he shouldn’t have. Or…maybe he should have. I don’t know. I wish I knew, Edelgard, I wish…”

“…Byleth?”

“He means well, he just…does so in the worst way imaginable.”

“Yes,” Edelgard smirks, “that sounds like Hubert, all right.”

The calm smile of the emperor brings the professor peace, even if her throat is dry and her heart is still frozen and heavy upon her breast. The two of them relax their postures, staring upwards at the stained glass windows and icy starlight from the occasional shattered pane.

“…Was it all right?”

“Hm?”

“Was it all right that I called you beautiful? If not, I won’t do it anymo—”

“No, it’s quite all right,” Edelgard shifts closer, “It…meant a great deal to me.”

Stained glass saints mesmerize Byleth; they are all she wants to focus on, out of fear that she will lose herself in a moment of weakness and take Edelgard here in her arms and never let go. The unburnt embers and unspoken words stifle her breaths, but she would not lose her fight against them, she would not let them spill and overflow.

Something sinks into the water and wraps around Byleth’s hand, and she doesn’t even need to look down to know that Edelgard’s has found its way there, her fingers and Byleth’s slowly coming together in the silence. She doesn’t need to ask why it is there, it simply _is_, and they are both red in the face from the heat and the haze and the unspoken affection between them.

“Your scars,” asks Byleth, “Would it be all right if I—”

Byleth is still focused on the stained glass and faded light, but her voice stops in her throat as the emperor takes her free hand and places it on the other woman’s face, slowly turning it so that she can see her scar-ridden neck and shoulders. She takes Byleth’s hand from the water and brings it to her collarbone, to the edges of her breasts, to her beating heart.

“Thank you,” the professor speaks softly, firmly, and her vision only blurs for a second or two before Edelgard’s eyes widen and her free fingers are wiping away the professor’s tears.

“Byleth?” she asks in with an almost childish fascination, “You’re…crying.”

“I’m so sorry,” she replies, and perhaps she feels like she is smiling, but she thinks tears are still falling and nothing she tries can stop either emotion anymore, “I know everything. Hubert—he never burned it. He kept it. He kept all of it.”

Byleth loses her own battle, but perhaps it is for the better, she thinks. If she has already broken from hiding these truths that were not her own, how had Edelgard felt all this time?

She doesn’t remember taking the other woman in her arms and holding her close, but Edelgard’s skin is pressed against hers, the rough little callouses just as lovely and warm and alluring as the rest of her quivering body.

“Those five years… I put you through hell, didn’t I?” Byleth asks softly, “I should have told you sooner, I should never have gotten lost, I—”

Edelgard slowly begins to relax her shoulders as the initial shock dies down within her. It dawns on her just what Byleth means; she shakes her head with another forlorn smile.

“You are here now, Byleth,” Edelgard reassures her, her fingers between strands of bright green hair, “I will always be grateful for that. I will always be grateful that you came back to me.”

“You’re still the same Edelgard, you know,” Byleth cautiously closes the distance between them, resting her forehead on the emperor’s, “You’re still my Edelgard.”

Her lavender eyes are glazed over with the tears she claimed she did not shed, but she manages to hold them back as she speaks:

“Thank you,” she says, again and again, “Thank you.”

“…Do you still love me, El?”

The mere mention of her old name and everything that comes with it brings such bliss to Edelgard that she cannot hold back nearly six years of longing anymore; she tightens her grip on the professor, kisses her gently like the fading starlight on stained glass, her lips soft and kind and inviting.

The emperor answers the question with a story that she needs no words to tell, with hands that dive into the shallow water and explore and caress every part of Byleth she’s ever wanted. Her friend-turned-lover listens to her answer with open arms and bare skin and heat that she never knew could exist in her cold, heartless shell of a body.

It is not anything like the depictions of love in those library books, but it is hers—_theirs_, now—and they take great joy in every moment of it, find themselves anew with every touch, every silent declaration of love.


End file.
